


Sometime After Two AM

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-30
Updated: 2003-12-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 04:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: New Year's, West Wing style.





	Sometime After Two AM

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Sometime After Two AM**

**by:** Baked Goldfish 

**Category:** Jed/Abbey, Leo/Jordan, Josh/Donna, Toby/CJ (though kinda friendshippy)  
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Spoilers:** Anything from Season 3  
**Summary:** It's just another auld lang syne.  
**Disclaimer:** The West Wing is the WB's.  Title and section titles are from Counting Crows' "A Long December."  And I'm a little late to the New Year's party here, so please don't sue me, since I'm obviously confused.  


["If you think that I could be forgiven, I wish you would."] 

His portrait was a snapshot in her mind, leaning against the wall across the room with Toby sitting next to him, talking politics.  His black tie was gone, as was his jacket, and he had his hands in his pockets, looking like he was asleep against the wall with his hair askew and half a smile on his face.  He was a snapshot, from earlier that morning, as she lay in bed and waited for him to come to bed. 

Her portrait was a snapshot in his mind, with a flowing dark blue gown and her hair loose and contrasting against the pale expanse of her shoulders and back.  She was facing away from him, with her head turned just enough for him to see a smile playing on her full lips, the effect of a joke that some one of her companions had just told.  She was a snapshot, from earlier that morning, as he walked up the stairs to the Residence. 

She heard the door open before she saw it, and looked up from the book she'd been reading to see him come in.  His black suspenders were stark against the crisp white dress shirt she'd almost taken off him much earlier.  "Hey, you." 

"Hey," he said, coming to sit on the bed next to her.  "You getting ready to sleep already?" 

"It's two in the morning, Mister President," she ribbed.  "Normal people are usually asleep before this." 

"Yeah."  He grinned sleepily and looked down at the sheets, picking at tiny, almost imperceptible pulls in the needlework; she brushed a thick lock of hair away from his forehead.  "Tonight's New Year's Eve, though." 

"Hmm?" 

"I said, tonight's New Year's Eve," he repeated, looking up at her.  "People stay up tonight." 

She traced the curve of his ear, regarding him quietly.  "Come to bed, baby." 

He caught her hand in his, and turned to kiss the tip of her finger.  "You shouldn't call me baby, I'm older than you, you know." 

"I know, baby."  She put the book down and looked at him, really looked at him; she saw, in a moment, that same young man who'd knocked coffee onto her blouse so long ago, and who'd then tried to pat her chest dry, seemingly oblivious to the snickers and giggles that had filled the cafe then.  That had been more than thirty years ago, more than thirty new years of ups and downs.  And here they were. 

"It's been a hell of a year, huh?" he asked quietly, looking as if he'd known exactly what she was thinking. 

She sighed.  "Yeah.  It really has." 

He looked down at her hand in his lap, and absently rubbed her palm with his thumb.  "You know, if you want me to stop-" 

"We've talked about this, Jed," she warned him.  

"Yeah."  He sighed, and looked back down at the comforter.  "I'm gonna go take a shower, then I'll be in bed," he said, standing up with his hand still in hers. 

"Okay."  He let her go, and walked towards the bathroom.  She picked up her book again, and said, "Jed?" 

He turned to look at her.  "Yeah?" 

"It's New Year's Day, by the way." 

His forehead creased as he frowned.  "What do you mean?" 

"You were calling it New Year's Eve, it's New Year's Day," she said. 

"Oh."  He turned back to the bathroom, and then quickly turned back to her.  "You know, it's a new year, Abbey, I can change my – it's not too late-" 

"Jed-" 

"-it's not too late, I can still pull out if you want me to," he quietly finished. 

She looked at him, and saw the same young man she'd seen in the cafe years ago – earnest, nervous, passionate.  "Come here," she said, and when he sat back down at her side, she leaned forward to kiss him.  She thumbed the breadth of his black suspenders, asking, "It's been a hell of a year, huh?" 

He chuckled as he heard his words coming from her mouth.  "Yeah," he answered.  "It really has." 

He kissed her, deep and open-mouthed. 

["Look across a crowded room to see the way that light attaches to a girl."] 

He traced his finger over the highlighted part of her shoulder, keeping right at the edge of the shadows as she slept facing away from him; behind him, on the ground, lay their clothes, hidden in the gash of darkness that lay between his bed and the door.  The dim lights that never really let the city get dark were seeping in through his fourth story window, casting a blue filter over the room and keeping him awake, as usual.  He didn't mind much, and his finger ventured into the darkened curve of her arm as a smile threatened to upturn the corners of his mouth. 

"Leo," she mumbled into the pillow, still facing away from him and still close-eyed.  "Go to sleep, wouldja?" 

His finger stopped moving, and he dropped his hand to the sheets between them.  "What, a man can't stay awake in his own bed?" he asked mock-indignantly. 

"Not when he's keeping a woman up with him," she replied, finally turning to face him even though her eyes were still closed.  "Other way around, now, is a different story altogether." 

"You weren't asleep just now, you're too coherent."  He put his arm over her, almost protectively, and dropped his head to his pillow.  "And what, exactly, does a woman do if her man doesn't stay up?" 

"She makes him get a prescription filled," she answered, cracking open one eye just to see where to put her kiss.  "Go to sleep, Leo, it's-"  She grabbed the alarm off the bedside table and said, "It's damn near two-thirty in the morning, and I'm not gonna take you staying awake any more." 

He shrugged, pulled his arm away, and the sheets bunched up a little more around them.  "I always stay up this late.  And nobody talks to the White House Chief of Staff like that." 

"You should change that, and I talk to you like that whether you like it or not."  Opening both her eyes to look at him, she added mischievously, "Though I suspect you like it more than not." 

He shrugged again, and looked at her innocently; she shook her head, and laughed softly before shifting away and closing her eyes again.  Leaning toward her, he put his lips right by her ear and murmured, "I'm thinking of getting up and hanging up my tuxedo." 

"Why do you make it sound like you're trying to seduce me?" she mumbled, already drifting off. 

"Is it working, Miss Kendall?" he quipped. 

Eyes still closed, she reached behind her, took his hand in hers, and brought it around so that it was resting on her stomach.  A few moments later, she looked to be asleep, and he propped himself up on his elbow to look at her.  Her hand was still on top of his, and her fingers were twined with his, and he knew his shoulder would be sore from sleeping like that all night, but he didn't think he'd mind.  The dim blue light of night was making her hair seem even softer, and her skin seem even smoother, and he didn't think he'd mind at all.  

Smiling, he pressed a kiss against the spot right below her ear, and he began to feel a little tired.  Finally, he settled against her back with his free arm under his pillow, and suddenly remembered the old saying about what a person is doing as the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Day is what he'll be doing for the rest of the year. 

She heard him chuckling behind her, and reached around to smack his arm. 

["Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her."] 

She woke up, squinty-eyed, to the sound of loud rapping at her door.  Pushing the covers and Spartacus off her, she crawled out of bed and grabbed her robe before heading to the door.  Quickly, she checked her watch: 2: 43 AM.  She groaned; there could only be one person knocking on her door at this hour. 

She looked out the peephole, and then wrenched the door open.  "Josh, you really can't-" 

"Donna," he said, sounding surprised to see her.  He stumbled past her, and picked up Spartacus; he purred at Josh's touch.  "Hey, Sparty," he cooed, holding the cat up to his face.  "Where's your roommate?" 

Donna rubbed her eyes, tired and annoyed.  "Josh?" 

He turned around, and Spartacus jumped out of his arms and padded to the couch.  "Did I just ask Spartacus where his roommate was?" he asked, dazed. 

"You are so plastered," she muttered, closing the door.  She squinted at him, her vision still blurry from sleep; his hair was even more Einsteinian than normal, and his tux was a mess.  The tie was gone somewhere, and she was sure that he wouldn't know where that somewhere was, and the jacket looked to have some sort of stain on it.  "What're you doing here?" 

"I, uh, I thought I gave the cabby my address," he said, turning back to look at the cat.  "You look different, Sparty." 

She moved and picked Spartacus up, to take him back to the bedroom.  "He's got a flea collar," she explained.  "A lot of cats around here have picked up fleas, and Beth didn't want him to-" 

"No, it's something, it's something else," he slurred, groping for the cat.  She sighed and handed him over, and took Josh by the elbow to lead him to the couch.  "I told the cabby this was my address, I think, or I told him I lived here, or I'm not quite sure what I told him-" 

"Stop talking to the damn cat," she muttered, and Spartacus again jumped out of his arms as Donna pulled off his jacket.  "Do you want me to call you another cab?" 

He stared at her, perplexed.  "Why would Spartacus need a cab?"  She glared at him, and he didn't really notice.  "Hey, I didn't see you tonight." 

She hung up his jacket, and muttered, "I wasn't at the party, Josh." 

"I know, I – I didn't – you weren't there," he said, in the loud, brash way that only drunks can get.  "I wanted to, to talk to you about – I wanted-"  He stopped abruptly, and looked at Spartacus, who looked back at him.  "There's something really different about that cat.  Where's Beth?" 

"There's nothing different about the damn cat, except for the fact that you woke him up by coming here," she snapped. 

His face became worried, though Donna couldn't see it, and he bent to scoop up the disinterested cat.  "I woke you up?" he murmured, stroking the fur on top of his head. 

"You woke *me* up, Josh," Donna stated, grabbing the cat from his hands; Spartacus mewled, surprised, as she dumped him on the sofa.  "I'm going to call another cab, and send you home, okay?" 

"No," he protested, taking a step towards her.  "I – I need to – I think I may be in love with Amy, Amy Gardner, and I-" 

"Josh-" 

He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the lips; his mouth tasted of pungent alcohol, stale and biting and vaguely cheap. 

She pulled away quickly, surprised and shaken, and slapped him once, twice on the cheek.  "I hate you," she said, and then she kissed him back.  

On the couch, Spartacus licked his paw and washed his face, uninterested. 

["There's reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last."] 

"Toby." 

"They have good pie here." 

She sighed and put her fork down, gazing out the plate glass window beside their booth.  The long stretch of New Hampshire Avenue beyond the strip mall parking lot was completely deserted, this far out near Burtonsville, and the tiny all-night diner they were in provided the only light for what had to be miles.  

The door jangled open, and she startled at the sound: a group of young people, most likely high schoolers, had just come in, loud and happy and and ambling up to the counter.  She could barely hear their order, but she did make out one word. 

Toby glanced at them when he heard that word, and turned back to CJ with raised eyebrows.  "See?  Told you they have good pie here." 

She rolled her eyes at him and speared a chunk of apple filling.  "You dragged me out to the middle of Podunk, Maryland-" 

"Do people even say 'Podunk,' anymore?" 

"-for some pie," she finished, taking a vicious bite to accentuate her words.  "In the middle of the night, at that." 

"It's only Podunk to you because you're from the big city," he stated, pointing at her with his fork. 

"Right.  Those wide open spaces of the Bronx taught you to appreciate the rolling countryside, did they?"  She poked listlessly at her pie.  "And, also, just because a group of possibly drunk high schoolers come here to get pie, it doesn't mean that this place has good pie.  It just means that it caters to possibly drunk high schoolers." 

"It's a new year, CJ," he muttered.  "Out with the old and in with the new.  So, out with that old snarkiness and in with the new ... unsnarkiness."  His forehead wrinkled while he wondered where that word had come from. 

She hid a smirk, and repeated, "Unsnarkiness?" 

"Shut up.  You gonna finish that pie?" 

Pulling the plate closer to her, she said, "I paid for it, didn't I?" 

He shrugged in defeat, and ate some of his own pecan pie.  "Man can dream, can't he?" 

The door jangled closed as the high schoolers left with their orders, and she watched them crowd into their cars and drive off.  Once more, the diner was empty, except for the two of them and the lone employee dozing behind the counter.  Turning her attention to her plate, CJ moved a bit of crust around and said, "You didn't even let me get changed out of this crap." 

He'd been paying attention to his pie for the last minute or so, and looked up in surprise when she started talking again.  Mouth half full of pie, he said, "Hmm?" 

"All I could do was put on some more sensible shoes," she continued.  "I'm sitting here in a Vera Wang dress and a pair of Reeboks." 

He blinked, and went back to his pie.  "I didn't know people still wore Reeboks." 

She glared at him, and he noticed, even though he wasn't watching her.  "I'm serious, Toby.  I look like an idiot sitting here." 

He finally relented, and took a mouthful of pie before glancing under the table; she was, indeed, wearing a classic black pair of Reeboks sneakers under her flowing pale dress.  Coming back up, he shrugged, and took another mouthful.  Around pecans and crust, he mumbled, "I think it looks pretty sexy." 

She stared at him for a moment, and when it looked like he wasn't paying attention to her anymore, she shook her head and cut into her slice.  For the first time that night, she tasted it.  "Hey, Toby?" 

"Yeah?" 

"This is pretty good pie." 

They ate the rest of their pie in silence, and then he dropped her home. 

-end- 


End file.
